


Once Upon a December

by PinstripesAndConverse



Category: City of Love: Paris (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bisexual Vincent Karm, Bisexual main character, Canon Character Death/Reference to Canon Character Death, Character Opening Up, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Baggage, F/M, For reference: Paul is from Vincent's special episode when you choose Raphael, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 15:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/PinstripesAndConverse
Summary: Set several years after the epilogue, established Vincent x MC, hints at unrequited Vincent x Paul.  One Christmas, Vincent decides to take the MC to meet the one person she never got to.  MC is unnamed.  Deals with grief and trauma.





	Once Upon a December

**Author's Note:**

> Paul is a character found outside of the canon story, in Vincent's special episode; choosing Raphael gives you the actual backstory on what happened. Nothing else is known expect that Vincent, Raphael, and Paul were a trio of friends and then tragedy happens, causing a rift between Raphael and Vincent.  
> Given Vincent's lack of opening up (in that Raphael is the one that tells you the details), a few in the fandom speculate on how close he and Paul were. This story branches off of that, with Vincent being bisexual, along with the MC.

She was glad she wore proper shoes when she saw where Vincent stopped after driving through the wrought iron gate.  She hadn’t seen the name above the entrance but the marble sculptures of angels and saints and the dotting the snowy hill were a giveaway.  At least it stopped snowing.

She glanced at Vincent, his eyes lost in thought as he gazed out at the white landscape in front of them, his grip on the wheel relaxed but his jaw clenched, betraying his mental state.  This wasn’t their first Christmas together but this was…new.  There was a routine to their Christmas morning by now.  He always ran an unexplained errand, rising long before she was ready to leave the warmth of bed; when she woke, she would find a bouquet of roses in a vase at her bedside table and a very somber Vincent downstairs, pouring morning tea, Esteban curled up on the couch.

Now she knew the reason for his silence, at least in part.  She still had flowers and their morning tea, but she felt this was not something he shared with anyone else.

She got out of the car, adjusting her coat as she walked over to Vincent, the emerald scarf she had given him that morning contrasting sharply with his black coat.  She slipped her hand in his silently and let him lead the way.

He had brought her here for a reason and he would explain when he was ready to.

They walked up a hill, the only sounds coming from the crunching snow beneath their feet and the brave birds chirping despite the bitter cold.  He led her down a row of stones, stopping at one recently brushed of any snow and a fresh bouquet of flowers in the planter next to it.

She expected a family member, perhaps a parent.  But instead the name on the tombstone read: Paul Géroux.  He was young, only in his twenties when he passed.

She  _knew_  about Paul, vaguely.  The name cropped up now and again, she had seen a few pictures, but she never asked.  She wasn’t so much afraid as she was acutely aware some topics were just not broached until they were meant to be.  She hadn’t gotten as far in her career as she did by pushing when a source wasn’t ready to reveal its knowledge.

Vincent let go of her hand to pull out a single red rose from his jacket, staring at it briefly, his long fingers rolling the stem idly.  He placed it with the other flowers, the red sharply contrasting against the pastels of the others, against the stark whiteness of the snow.  She took his hand again, resting her head on his arm as he drew a deep breath.

“Paul…was one of my dearest friends.  Along with Raphael.”

She stood straight, gazing up at him, his eyes clouded with memories as he stared at the grave.  He didn’t like Raphael and the two of them bickered more than they conversed if they ever got stuck in the same room.  The two of them, friends?  She turned her eyes back to the tombstone as she listened to him continue.

“The three of us were inseparable.  We did everything together, we even managed to make it into the same university; I spent more time making sure Paul had the grades to make it in than I did on my own.  We fed ideas to each other, knew our weaknesses, played to our strengths.  It felt as if there was nothing we couldn’t do, as long as we had each other.”

He paused and he glanced down at her, his eyes wide with a long-held sadness, assessing her reaction.  She drew her eyes up to look at him, wanting nothing more than to free him from the pain he felt, to listen to him tell her something she was certain he had never told anyone.  

“Paul…he  _saw_  me.  Understood a part of me that I was afraid to admit to anyone else.”  Vincent whispered.  “I thought I was confused,  _broken_ for liking men and women.  Paul was…interested in men, part of a world I knew nothing about.  He put a name to what I felt, led me discreetly through an entire new realm.  Things were… a little different, even a couple of decades ago.”  

She understood what he was hinting at, the topic still delicate, despite their long talks about it.  They were alike in their attraction to both men and women and she related to his words viscerally.   

“He was…my first, in many things.  He was the only one I trusted.”

She tightened her hold on his hand for a moment and rested her other on his upper arm.  “What happened?” She whispered.

He blinked, turning his head towards the stone again, his thumb tracing idle patterns against her hand as he continued.

“We went to a party during my last year of graduate school.  Weeks prior, Paul had come to me and talked about someone he liked, someone in my program, and asked me about him.  This man was, quite frankly, dreadful and dangerous; I was concerned someone like him would…take advantage of Paul in every way, snuff out the ever-present glow he seemed to carry around.”  Vincent paused, his voice growing hoarse as he remembered Paul, always smiling, laughing, vibrant even in darkness.  “He always lit up the room.  It would be a grey snowy day, like today, and sitting next to him would be like the sun breaking through the clouds.”

It hurt her to hear such pain in his voice, for his memories to be tinged with an eternal sorrow.  

“I found him later that night flirting with…that worthless piece of dross.  He cheated on his partners and, unlike Paul, wasn’t much into relationships.”  Vincent took a deep breath, his fingers trembling in hers but she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or his emotions.  “I was angry,  _hurt_ in a way I couldn’t comprehend, not then.  I yelled at Paul and Raphael attempted to end things before they got out of hand; he was the designated driver and decided that was a good time to leave.  I remember tense silence, only broken by Paul’s admission that he was sorry, that he should have listened, before Raphael lost control of the car around a turn.  We flipped, hard, into a tree.”  He brought his other hand to his eyebrow, tracing the small scar she often kissed.  “I was sitting behind Raphael, and both of us escaped relatively unscathed.  Paul, however…”

She nodded, looking up at him, understanding his point.  A sharp pang ran through her chest at seeing his pained expression, unused to this level of candidness from him.  She had once wondered why, all those years ago, he wanted to use the essence to create a world without pain or sorrow, where bliss ruled and nothing hurt.  The world had not been kind to him and yet he still managed to dream, to move forward.

“I never got to apologize to him for my behavior.  To tell him that I loved him.  To get my chance at…peace.”  He finished, his body turning towards her but his eyes glued to the stone a moment longer before he directed his gaze to her.  It was pensive, intense, as if waiting for her to decide she wanted nothing to do with his confession of pain and sorrow.  She tilted her head, letting him think; he looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it, instead drawing their interwoven hands to his lips, kissing the back of her hand, never breaking eye contact.

“Until you, that is.  That same light with Paul…I see it in you.”  He admitted softly.  “I never expected to find that again.”

She said nothing, knew there were no words she could say that would ease the pain deep within him.  Life was fleeting; she dared not promise anything when a freak accident could take it away, part them forever as it had with Paul.  

Instead, she let go of his hand to wrap her arms around him, to rest her head against his chest.  She felt him rest his head on hers, laying stray kisses in her hair as he held her.  

“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling the soft cashmere of the green scarf against her cheek.  “For telling me.  For trusting me.”

“I’m only sorry for not telling you sooner, ma chérie.”  He nuzzled her hair, tickling her a little.

“Don’t be.  Please.”  She knew how difficult it was to discuss grief, especially the pain of those you loved the most.  

They both took a final look at the headstone before Vincent turned, directing them back to the car.  A quick glance up told her he was thinking, turning something over and over again in his head, his eyes dead ahead, lost in the grey December sky.  When they reached the car, he hesitated getting into the driver’s seat for a moment when he asked, “Would you mind one more trip?”  His eyes bore into hers, imploring her for a moment, the roof of the car glistening with melted snow.

“Of course not,” she replied, settling into the passenger seat, wondering just what he had in mind.


End file.
